


Hold the Line

by luna_libertatis



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 06:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna_libertatis/pseuds/luna_libertatis
Summary: Gladio is just eleven years old when he gets the news one evening that the Royal motorcade has been attacked, Prince Noctis has been injured, and his father isn't coming home to Insomnia any time soon.





	Hold the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Written for _Honor and Duty_ , a Gladiolus Amicitia fanzine. (Twitter: @HonorNDutyZine)

It had been a calm evening in the Amicitia household, as calm as one could be for a household with a three-year old. Iris and her crayons were hard at work at the table, Gladio was stretched out on the couch with a novel. He had just gotten to the part where the brave heroes were ambushed by a pair of dragons, when he heard a giggle above his head. He looked up to see Iris grinning down at him, leaning over the armrest.

“Gladdy, look!” she thrust a piece of paper in front of his nose.

He set the book down on his chest and pulled the picture further back from his face. It was a drawing of him and Iris; he could tell from her clothes and his height. Gladio had recently turned eleven, but he was already as tall as boys three years older. In the drawing, they were standing on green grass, among pink flowers, and she had drawn the Wall as a wavy pink line arcing high over their heads.

“Good job!” he reached back to bop her on the head with the paper as she giggled. “You want to put it up on the fridge?”

“No!” Iris plucked it from his hands. “I give to Papa! Papa when he comes home,” she declared.

Gladio snorted and resumed reading his book. Not a few minutes later he heard a knock at the front door, followed by Jared’s footfalls going to answer it. He wondered who it could be; his father was away from Insomnia with the royal entourage, and everyone knew that. There were muffled voices, then he heard Jared gasp: “...and what of His Majesty?”

Gladio set his book aside.

The door to the sitting room opened, and Cor Leonis strode inside. Gladio sat up even straighter, already sick with foreboding, and looked at Iris. She seemed content to ignore the intrusion and kept scraping colors across her paper, bare feet swinging under the chair. _“If the King is dead,”_ he thought, _“then we are alone.”_

Cor sat on the couch beside him. “Gladiolus. Something serious has happened tonight that you need to know about.”

A memory seeped across the edges of Gladio’s mind: sitting on a plastic chair in the hospital, looking at his hands, his father explaining that his mother wasn’t going to wake up, that she would never get better. At least, this time, he knew the blow was coming.

Cor continued: “The Royal motorcade was attacked.”

A lump painfully swelled in his throat. _Dad…?_ Tears slipped down his cheeks, hot and silent. They wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t get them to stop.

“Gladiolus,” Cor gently clasped his shoulder, “Gladio, it’s alright, your father is alright.”

Gladio nodded and squeezed his eyes shut. He took a deep, hiccupping breath as Cor gripped his shoulder tighter for a moment, then pulled away.

Two small hands appeared, pressing onto his knees. “You ok?” Iris asked. “Did you ouch?”

“No, it’s ok,” Gladio scrubbed at his face with his hands. “I’m ok, see?” He lifted his face to look at her and flashed a watery smile. “Everything’s ok.”

Cor had his phone in his hand and was dialing. “Your father asked me to call him when I got here,” he said. “He’s safe,” he repeated, “The King is safe.”

Gladio sniffed. “And Prince Noctis?”

Cor paused.

“Injured, but stable.” He turned away slightly as he spoke into the phone. “Sir. …Yes, I’m here with them now. …Yes, sir, Dustin and Monica will be briefed. …Understood.” He handed the phone to Gladio as he stood. “I need to speak with Jared, but I’ll be back.”

Cor withdrew, and Gladio willed his voice to be steady as he raised the phone to his ear.

“Dad?”

“Gladiolus!” At the sound of his father’s voice Gladio had to clamp down on a fresh wave of tears. “Are you alright? Is your sister alright?”

“We’re... Dad, we’re _fine_. What happened? Prince Noctis got hurt?”

“He did, but we’re headed somewhere safe now. Luckily the King was there to fight off that _thing_.”

“What ‘thing’? What happened?’”

“Prince Noctis was attacked by a daemon.”

Gladio gasped. He’d assumed the attackers had been soldiers, but a daemon? Gladio thought about all the monsters his father had described that he and the King had fought in their youth. They had been tough creatures for grown men, trained warriors, to bring down. The Prince was just a little kid.

“Sir?” He hesitated.

“Yes, son?”

“Should I have been there? As his Shield?” Gladio worried his lip with his teeth. “Was I supposed to be there?”

“No! No...,” his father’s voice softened, “son, you still have many years of training before you take your oaths. This wasn’t your responsibility.”

“Is he going to be ok?”  
  
“The King’s magic is strong, and the Oracle herself has offered aid. But it’s too early to know how long it will take for Prince Noctis to heal and recover.” He paused. “Gladiolus, you understand that as much as I would like to come home, I must stay with the King?”

Gladio sat up straight. “Yes, sir! Of course! It’s your duty as Shield.”

“That’s right. And right now, _your_ duty is to stay there and help take care of Iris. I need you to hold the line, son.”

“Yes, sir.” His father issuing an order, giving him a focus, was grounding.

“Is she still up?”

“Yeah, she’s right here… Iris, come say ‘hi’ to Papa…”

Gladio pressed the phone to her cheek, but Iris pushed his hands away and grabbed at it herself. “HI PAPA!” she gleefully screamed.

Gladio winced. “Iris!”

She ignored him and continued to babble into the phone. “Yeaaah. …Coloring! I make a drawing for you!” She paused and looked up at Gladio adoringly. “Reading stories. …Ok! …Ok, love you!” She dropped the phone onto the couch and scampered away.

Gladio took the phone back, hoping she hadn’t hung up. “Dad?”

His father chuckled. “Still here.”

“Don’t worry, Dad,” he said, resolute. “I’ve got this.”

 

~~~

 

Days passed. All “non-essential” communication with the royal party in Tenebrae ceased. Updates were brief and sporadic as the days stretched into weeks.

Iris stopped asking “Where’s Papa?” when Gladio tucked her in at night. However, an increased demand for variety in her bedtime stories meant that Gladio made more frequent trips to the Citadel library. Which, in turn, meant he ran into Ignis.

Living at the Citadel put Ignis in a far better position to eavesdrop and pick up scraps of information. Gladio had known that the Prince was awake, but Ignis also knew that he was relying on a wheelchair.

“For right now or for forever?”

Ignis frowned. “I do not know.”

Ignis had also known the nanny who was with the Prince during the attack, the one who had died. Ignis and his uncle had gone to her funeral, and afterward he had overheard some of the adults whispering that “you couldn’t even tell she’d been nearly cut in half.”

“But,” Ignis shuddered, “His Highness wasn’t hurt so bad as that.”

Gladio hummed in agreement.  “They’ll all be back soon.” 

Ignis nodded.

~~~

 

A few days later the Oracle was dead, and Tenebrae burned.

Every television station in Insomnia played the footage of the raging fire at Fenestala Manor and the wave of Imperial soldiers arriving, on an endless loop. Gladio was glued to the screen for hours, looking for any familiar faces amongst the flames. There was no word from the royal party.

The news began showing footage from the Oracle’s public events over the years. Various healing tours and haven blessings. One clip showed Queen Sylva standing beside a field of sylleblossoms with a baby in her arms and a toddler half-hidden behind her skirts. A memory bubbled up, unbidden: Gladio leaning into the warmth of his mother’s side, her hand pressing his hand against her belly as the baby kicked. Her kiss to the top of his head, saying what a good brother he would be.

Night came and there was still no word. After Iris was safe in bed, Gladio went out to the garden. It was a warm night, and he lay on the grass and gazed up at the stars twinkling through the shimmering haze of the Wall. _“If the Wall is there,”_ he thought, _“the King is alive.”_ And if the King was alive, there was still hope...

 

~~~

 

Gladio didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until he realized he was being carried.

He gave a drowsy grumble of protest: he was too old for that, and too big, besides. But the arms beneath him were strong and steady as they went up the stairs. And the voice above him said that it was alright, that everything was alright, now. That he’d done so well.

Eyes closed, Gladio pressed his face into the shoulder of the one who carried him, that smelled of sweat and steel, and of lingering smoke.

 

 


End file.
